No Time for Caution
by Ihsan997
Summary: Alone in the woods, Anjula and Melas are content to live away from society and its rules. But when they happen upon a merchant lost in the forest, their attempt to lend a helping hand becomes more of a burden than they'd realized. 4 chapters.
1. Privacy

**A/N: this follows my oneshot "Forever Waiting" by just a few months. For those interested, there are character sheets for both Anjula and Melas on my DA account (same name) and a picture of Anjula on the account of MischiArt. A picture of Melas by Mischi is, hopefully, forthcoming.**

 **For those wondering about Anjula's speech pattern: they're speaking Zandali in the beginning, and I don't imagine her having an accent in her own language (or Melas having an accent in the language since he's spoken it for 8,000 years). When they switch to Darnassian, she remembers much of it from the past but it's incomplete so the accent comes in.**

Roots competed with one another, vying for space over top as they twisted, entangled and tied together. Vines and leaves provides ample shade and filled in the gaps that the temperate wood did not; a dome formed, and the inside remained dark despite the fading light of the late afternoon. The soil itself reached up and partially engulfed the enclosure, sprouting ferns until any inkling that the natural formation before them had only recently been formed, and in a matter of hours.

The clearing had been mostly dirt before, but the canopy was so thick that very little light escaped below. Their latest campsite hadn't been difficult to find; there were many such places in the region, and it only took a few days of travek and sleeping out in the open whenever they decided it was time to move on. Their longest record was still only six days...in that lifetime, of course.

She watched him as his arms came to rest, violet covered skin contrasting against the light brown kilt made from a deer they had skinned together. The way his eyes glowed just a little bit brighter whenver the green swirls wrapped around him fascinated her, but not in the way of something new; all of it was familiar, if only in bits and pieces. He remained standing for a few more minutes as he rested, a slight rustling in the lower canopy from the relatively rough storm above the only source of noise. He never grew tired of waiting, even as his soul felt the reminder of death and inevitability; how he could feel so comfortable at rest never ceased to confound her. Some things, she'd never grow used to.

Two pairs of feet lined up next to each other as she moved forward to stand next to him; she was slightly taller than him if she didn't slouch though not by much, but her two toes on her right foot were visibly larger than the five toes on his left. To top off the obvious differences, the royal purple hue of her hide was darker than his violet skin, though the fact that he had so many toes always struck her more. Sometimes she'd count again and again just to be sure he still had five on each foot; that, she was used to in a sense, but it still caused those two thick lips to curl over her tusks in a childish grin.

As if he knew she were looking again, he stretched his toes out, and his thinner lips curled over fangs as he grinned right back. "They're still there," he told her in a clear, relaxed voice, speaking her language as fluently as anyone else in her tribe.

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. "Still?" she asked, images flickering through her mind.

Though he continued watching their new hut he had just grown via his spells, she had his full attention. A hum of affirmation escaped through his smaller nose, a subtlety she'd grown to focus on quickly; living with him always felt like a two way observation, both intriguing but also a very exposed feeling. "You would always comment about the extra toes I have on each foot. Sometimes you'd do a double take to check if they were still there."

She couldn't quite put her finger on the reason, but her cheeks blushed an even darker shade of purple. Inside her, a combination of familiarity and closeness mixed in with the feeling of being exposed. Even if so much of their relationship felt old to her, the reality was that the images in her mind were mere recollections of lives past spent with him; any images and pieces of their past in his mind, however, were very real memories. So many details of the characteristics she'd retained and the experiences they'd shared across the cycle of her deaths and rebirths and his now-lost immortality were immediately available to him if he but reminisced, giving him an edge beyond her. At times, she felt as if he were observing her every action, recognizing mannerisms and behaviors she didn't even recognize in herself. Added to the fact that they lived alone together in the woods, only a single mountain range away from the Hyjalian den of her birth, and the sense of both intimacy and lack of privacy were overwhelming at times.

Not that she minded anymore. It had been months, and his patience as uncanny; he never pushed her toward anything she wasn't ready for. Even as she felt him so subtly observing her cheeks out of the corner of his eye, he didn't turn to face her fully, sparing her much embarrassment. If she truly was what the images told her she was - the reincarnation of a woman who had already lived countless lives for millennia - then it felt unbefitting that she grow shy around him like a young lady in her late teens.

But that's exactly what she was, at least in this lifetime. Unable to bear her increased pulse any longer and tortured by his almost teasing patience, she decided to be the first to stir. "There's no reason to wait before moving in...dear," she stammered hesitantly as she moved to collect the mere three spiderweb bags that contained all of their belongings. "The rainy season is over but there could still be scattered showers."

"There's no reason not to wait, either." He collected the rest of what they owned - just the bare minimum of handmade tools that two semi-nomadic people would need - and set it all down in the earthen hut he'd grown with his spell despite his protest. "One of the beauties of living out here is that you're never in a rush unless you want to be."

Seating herself down on the floor of the hut, she leaned against the wall opposite him, the door to the side. When vines grew from the roof on their own accord and covered the doorway to shield them from the outside, she fidgeted slightly but retained the feeling that she'd seen it before. His sly smirk as he unlaced one of the spiderweb bags he'd woven himself over a decade ago informed her that she'd seen him grow such vines before, and he'd probably seen her fidget like that before.

Opening up the single bag she had in her lap, she began to inspect what it contained to ensure they didn't need to replace anything. Flint knives of several different sizes were the easiest to feel out, and she laid the wolfhair string wrapped around their respective hilts out in front of her and counted the blades.

When she noticed him watching her again, she tried to play it cool this time and didn't look up. "Am I rushing to count only six blades too fast?" she asked cheekily.

"No, just right. Is it a crime if I enjoy looking at you?"

She didn't need to see the expression on his face to know that he was smiling in a manner even cheesier than hers. It was a rare occurrence from him and she stopped momentarily to wait for a second wave of increased pulse to wash away, taking a page from his book. She normally hated waiting.

"I can slow down."

"It's up to you."

"I'll slow down and take a break."

Recomposing herself, she's at back up to face him, keeping the large bag in her lap like a sort of security blanket. He hadn't even opened his bag yet, content to watch her with those amber eyes of his that glowed like all members of his tribe. Unable to ever win a gazing contest with him, she forewent the pleasant if nervous silence and tried to probe more for the shared memories of which he had more complete knowledge than her.

"Tell me one of my names in a past life," she demanded.

He smiled and looked down; this had become almost a game of theirs over the past few months as she got to know both him and herself a little more. Always happy but cautious as well, he'd refuse to tell her about more than one of her past selves every few days, ever fearful of overwhelming her. The patience drove her nuts, but not in a bad way, and any bit of information about who she had been previously made her feel more complete in the present.

"I've told you forty three out of the one hundred and six names so far," he began softly. His gaze fixated on his lap already as if he were sharing their memories by himself, and an illogical pang of jealousy shot through her as she felt the desire for him to look up at her again. "Do you remember all of them?"

"No, but I remember every picture in my head and every anecdote you've told me. And I remember that I bore the name 'Zeina' in four separate lifetimes and 'Dewi' in two. And that you won't tell me of my names in the first few lifetimes."

Sighing in a way that made her want to jump up and down and demand to know why, he took his time choosing his words. She'd long ago learned that prodding him wouldn't speed him up, and merely waited along with him as he considered what to tell her. "Nothing from our origins...yet. You've recalled so much, and you're dealing with the visions so much better, but...let's leave the more sensitive moments for later." Finally he met her eyes again - an old, wise gaze she'd seen through so many different eyes - and she knew he wasn't simply teasing her or being overly cautious.

"Alright...I understand," she conceded. "But it's been four days, and I've remembered and retained so much. Please, I want more."

"I understand too," he chuckled. "Hmm...have there been any more pictures in your dreams? Or maybe even while waking? Anything you don't yet recognize?"

"Not so much...once you start reminding me of things, the pictures aren't as intense or random. Most of them are from the lives you've described to me most recently. But..." Tapping her shin for a second, she remembered remembering a memory. "A day and a half ago, when we descended that really long hill with all the trees growing out of it...very briefly, I saw a picture I didn't recognize. But the ground was so steep that we had to focus on where we stepped and I didn't say anything."

"What did you see?"

"It was very brief, like a flash, but it was the ocean. It definitely wasn't a lake, but you told me we rarely ever leave the woods. And you never mentioned the few specific instances when we did, so it felt strange."

"What else did you see? We never sailed, but we swam in the shallows a few times."

Closing her eyes, she found the image to still be elusive, the dark areas from the edges of her peripheral vision concealing too much in the memory. "We weren't in the water. I see white sand, or very very light beige, and no islands. It's night, and the sky is overcast, but there's no rain. It's very dark without the stars." She continued to hold her eyes closed as her thoughts were interrupted by a sound from far away outside her hut. Her long, sensitive ears twitched and she could hear his twitching, too.

"Is that in my mind, or is someone really crying?"

Her question hung in the air for a moment and she opened her eyes to find his closed as he listened. Off in the distance the sound of an injured person reached the hut again, and he opened his eyes, which bore a sense of seriousness to them. "Someone is crying for help, in my tribe's talk; he's far and he sounds desperate."

Blinking and looking at him, she didn't know what to do. In her tribe, men made all the big decisions; in his tribe, women did so. In the small handful of crises they'd faced during the past few months, both of them often assumed the other would take the lead only to find silence between them. After having spent so many millennia together, however, they'd rubbed off on each other enough that he'd eventually make the big decisions, which she felt comfortable with given the haziness of her still growing mind.

"He sounds desperate, but not like he's being chased. If we smell too many predators then we can return, but if not we can help him until he's on his way," he declared before standing up. She stood up after him, the worry written on her face; her tribe rarely contacted the outside world, attacking strange people just as they'd attack strange animals. Strangers meant danger. As if he already knew what she'd say, he spoke again before she could as he led them out of the hut. "Your tribe marched under the banner of my tribe's priestess in the war that ended our immortality. If he is from my tribe, he will not be hostile toward you."

Nodding but picking up one of her wooden spears regardless, she followed behind him as they both crept slowly in the dark of early evening. If the man truly was injured to the point of fatality, then it was beyond their control; if he wasn't, then he could wait. Either way, even she understood the need to be cautious this time, and the two reunited mates stalked silently through the endless woods as they followed the voice.

It couldn't have taken them more than ten minutes of stalking until the injured man cried out again. "Help," he yelled in the familiar yet still elusive language. The man's voice had become hoarse from previous yelling, as if he wasn't in mortal danger and bore only scant hope that he'd be found.

Which wouldn't be totally out of the realm of possibility considering how far from any signs of sentience they'd set up their latest camp, she thought to herself. The two of them walked a little further until they could clearly see the man yelling as if he were desperate, yet in a rather in-desperate situation.

Bearing glowing eyes but silver in color, he obviously wasn't a Druid. Deep purple skin stood out, along with the color of his robes, against green hair in an unappealing way. Like all of his kind, he lacked tusks, had too many digits and was of smaller stature. Most telling as to how he ended up in his current situation, however, was his clothing; fine, regal clothes of a style she'd never seen before but which she knew belonged to a society unlike the tribal one she'd grown up in. A society of inequality and material wealth, where people intentionally trapped themselves into a cycle of schedules and ritualized work to care for oversized dwellings and too many possessions. It didn't make sense for him to be so far from any villages or settled areas, and judging by his appearance he was lucky that he lasted so long out there.

His silk pants had caught on a tree branch in a thick area of brush at the forest floor, and he'd tumbled in a way that caused him to become stuck between a few fallen logs. Were he not so bundled up in so much clothing it would have been easy for him to free himself...then again, someone so foppish might truly be incapable of caring for himself out there.

Finally, he noticed the pair looking at him from behind the numerous ferns. To her relief, the man himself looked relieved and displayed no hostility due to her being from a different tribe. To her chagrin, he began waving and yelling like an idiot. "Please, over here! I've fallen and I can't get up!" he shouted in his taxed voice, flopping like a fish.

"Quiet down!" her mate told the uninjured but panicked man in their dialect. "We'll help you, but quiet down!"

Scanning the area for any predators, the pair found none and she hung back as her mate helped the smaller man out of the underbrush. Despite his seeming difficulty doing so, the silver eyed man found his way back to his feet and dusted off his now torn pants. Keeping a respectful distance from her, he looked the two over as he tried to calm down. "Thank you so much, I was afraid I'd starve if I'd been caught there too long. These parts are so dangerous!" The man looked around at a loss, and both his embarrassment and his question already became apparent. "I don't suppose you'd...know how I can get out of this place?"

Patient but nearly vexed at the man's stupidity, her mate pursed his lips before answering. "You managed to find your way here; don't you remember where you came from?"

Looking like a scolded child, the smaller man's ears drooped. "Well...no. I know I'm a day or so worth of travel from the nearest town. I left for a...quest. And I don't think I'll be able to complete it now. If I could just find me way to the nearest road, I'll be fine."

"That's also more than an entire day's travel from here. Do you have any food or water?"

"No," the man replied, his eyes downcast. "I guess I could forage, if I were just pointed in the right direction..." His reluctance was apparent, but so was the fact that he was fishing for them to offer help before he asked.

Lacking the patience to see the man further embarrass himself, she took half a step out from behind her mate to speak. "We have some food and water back at our camp...ya can have some and then be on ya way," she told the man in the way of speaking of his and her mate's tribe, her accent thick as she struggled to remember words she hadn't used in several lifetimes.

At first, the man's eyes widened but he quickly returned to his previous downcast state. "I'm...sorry. It isn't often to see a dark troll, especially one that speaks our language. And thank you, thank you both so much; I won't take too much of your time." Although the man looked eager to leave and his lips looked parched, he didn't make any move to leave before they did, obviously not wanting to appear greedy. "I'm Triton, by the way; I wish we were able to meet under better circumstances." He bowed very lowly in a show of respect, and it was embarrassing for the couple as the stranded stranger tried way too hard to show his humility.

Patient if she didn't have to deal with the stranger any further, she stepped mostly behind her mate again, letting the two men speak. "I am Melas; this is my life partner, Anjula," her mate replied with a bow that wasn't so low. Hearing his name caused images to creep up in the back of her mind, but her distrust of strangers due to her tribal upbringing led her to push them to the side. Hearing her current name, in contrast, felt less and less familiar as time went on.

Melas led the three of them back toward the camp after refusing gold coins Triton tried to foist upon him. Living in the forest, the couple had no use for money at all and would have considered it a shame to charge a lost townie for help anyway. In lieu of payment, Triton regaled tales of his travels he likely assumed were entertaining to the nomadic couple. If anything would be difficult about extending help, it would be pretending to be interested in the endless stories, and Anjula began to realize that they needed to get rid of the man as soon as he was capable of traveling on his own again.


	2. Regrets

Triton proved to be every bit as chatty as Anjula had feared. Strolling at a snail's pace as people from towns and villages often did, it took the three of them twice as long to return to the hut as it had for the two of them to initially follow his cries. Along every step of the way through the forest, he had different anecdotes to share, most of them geared toward him repaying debts to people and giving large amounts of money to the needy. It was obvious that his ego had been bruised by the necessity of asking for their help, and his autodidactic stories were some sort of a reassurance that he would pay them back somehow. Not that they wanted anything to do with the trappings of civilization; Anjula's people made a habit of rarely venturing beyond a ten or fifteen mile radius from their den, and Melas had long ago abandoned his people to live alone. Since the two had been reunited again, they both found that interaction with others had decreasingly less and less to offer.

However, the gesture was appreciated, and a man as nervous as Triton took hints as subtle as those he gave. Among his and Melas' people, women tended to walk in front of men when in groups; among her people, it was the opposite. Right away, Triton took the hint and deferred to the ways of the dark trolls rather than his own night elves, and walked alongside Melas as Anjula trailed behind. Even if he was rather harmless and seemed delighted to have been rescued, her upbringing still prevented her from being too open toward strangers, and she much preferred to remain out of most of the conversation.

That he spoke of things only people who lived in urbanized settlements cared about didn't help. Despite having been born and raised in the same society, even Melas occasionally fell into loops of disinterested affirmations and comments as he tried to keep up with the chatterbox. Unaware entirely, Triton continued to prattle on and the twenty minutes back to the hut felt like an entire day's worth of travel.

"You know, I once set up a functioning glue factory for a little consortium called the Venture Company. On top of scouting for workers, I was the one who designed the layout of the factory, too! Boy, those townspeople sure were happy to have all those jobs. Some miscreants in the capitals refer to such operations as sweatshops, but they don't know what it's like to actually work and pay taxes. Did you know that most people in the Blasted Lands don't actually pay any taxes? I've visited the Badlands multiple times, by the way."

"Interesting."

"And you know what? It just doesn't compare to Thousand Needles. It's surprising how much one can earn on the raceway when luck is on one's side."

"We be here."

Anjula's voice even sounded terse in her own ears, but she couldn't feel happier to have returned and finished the agonizing one sided conversation. So enthralled had their guest been in his own talking that he hadn't even noticed they'd broken out from the main body of the forest and entered a clearing. The canopy still came together above and obscured most of the moonlight, but that would only make viewing the area even easier for him. Standing still, hands at his sides, he looked even more ineffective than when they'd first found him; his very tame, urbanized clothing looked up imposing even when intact, but now that one of his pant legs had been tattered and the rest of his clothing covered in dust, he just looked useless.

Like a deer's face the moment before a spear hits it from the side, Triton looked lost and hopeless as he eyed the large mound of dirt, grass and vines before him. "Where's your hut?" he asked while staring right at it.

"We can sit out here," Melas said, ignoring his question and waving a hand such that the two flat, stump like wooden growths in the clearing rose a little higher to more obviously mimic the appearance of chairs.

Blinking and doing a triple take, Triton appeared to finally grasp what was going in. "Oh...oh! You're a Druid!" he exclaimed as if Melas' glowing amber eyes hadn't already made that obvious. "By the night, I couldn't have been luckier!" This time Triton didn't need to be directed before setting down his travel bag and sitting on one of the stumps, quickly opening it and pulling out an emergency sewing kit. "My apologies, but I can't stand to be see in such a condition; this will only take a moment." Immediately, he began cutting off the bottom part of his good pant leg, ostensibly to repair the other one and turn the ragged pants into passable knee length shorts.

Stuck with entertaining, Melas flashed Anjula one exasperated look as she made her way to the hut proper. A cheeky grin was all he received in return; it was her lucky day that they hadn't encountered a lost human barmaid or dwarven nanny in need of help instead. Saved by that lucky day, she promptly entered the hut, handed Melas one of their hand crafted waterskins from inside and then sat down to prepare some food in the peace, quiet and darkness of the couple's temporary dwelling.

From their bags, she found a small pile of cucumbers that Melas had grown at their last campsite using one of his long term spells (long term meaning a day or so rather than an hour or so like with the hut). Combined with two heads of lettuce and some apples, and the two of them would be low on food for the next few days. Regardless, neither she nor he would want to leave a guest hungry, even one as unwelcome as Triton, and she did her best to mix the cut apples with the broken cucumbers and loose lettuce leaves in a wooden bowl Melas had grown to make the contents look like a salad, a word she didn't know exactly why she remembered.

Outside the hut, Melas did a passable job at feigning interest, though the fact that Triton seemed to care little for what others thought of him made the job easier. As long as her mate didn't begin to daydream or possibly even commune with nature right in the middle of the conversation, they'd appear to be good hosts.

"You know, I really have so much respect for what people of your class do. I was once an officer at a barrow den - and it's an extremely important task that also involves preserving nature, that can't be stressed enough - but I worked alongside Druids frequently. Class acts, all of them."

"You don't say."

"Oh, absolutely. You know, I served at more than one barrow den, actually. See, we rotated similar to the women who roamed the forests, and those of us who possessed skills that were in high demand had to be shared among all the area commanders. You could almost say I'd become w connoisseur of unlocked achievements!"

"That's worth being proud of."

"Well, of course, I never let pride get in the way. It's not like I'm one of those types who enjoys prattling on and on about himself. But, well, aside from this little mishap in the woods, things were going fine."

"What was that quest you were on, exactly? You're far from the nearest town to have been traveling alone. Was it a gathering quest?"

There was a pause in the discussion, and even as she tore off more pieces of lettuce Anjula could hear Triton snort in disappointment.

"Yes...that it was. It's nothing, though. I just have to get over it and move on to other things..." His voice trailed off sadly in a way Anjula thought unbecoming of a grown man over one incomplete quest, and she found it hard not to judge.

Displaying a much different attitude, her mate tried to encourage the strange man. "In the past, our people were capable of such ideas; time belonged to us, and there was no such thing as procrastination. Sadly, such things are relics of a time that has expired; we can not wait forever anymore." The sound of deerskin on wood ground out and Anjula could tell that Melas had shifted in his seat, perhaps leaning closer to make his point. "If not finishing this quest will bother you, then dust off your knees and try again. Take it from me."

"Oh...I guess we both have things left on our to do lists!" Triton laughed unconvincingly, unable to mask further embarrassment in his voice at having been openly advised on his failure. "Do you also have an unfinished quest log?" the townie asked, shaking an object that Anjula assumed was the actual, literal written quest log he'd shown to them on the walk over to the hut. She'd almost laughed at him out loud then, and she had to bite her hand to prevent herself from doing so again from her listening spot in the hut.

Jingling a familiar chain, Melas shifted again and likely pulled out an object Anjula remembered very well. "This is an initiate medallion for the Cenarion Circle," he sighed, confirming that he was preparing to tell the brief tale.

Embarrassment replaced by enthusiasm, Triton's voice went up a pitch. "I remember seeing those among my Druidic colleagues at the dens! Those medallions are made from the sap of the Moonglade subspecies of purplewood. They're only good for a single entry for basic training, after which the wisps return them to nature."

"Exactly. This one in particular is over nine millennia old - nearly the age of Druidism itself. It's one of the handful remaining from the first batch of such medallions produced that haven't yet been used."

There was a pause as Anjula finished her work on all three bowls after having sliced the cucumbers into more edible pieces. Triton's voice when he finally did speak told of the man's confusion. "But the Circle doesn't make a habit of producing these so their members can hand out gifts. Is this...oh...I'm so sorry, someone in your family passed away before they were able to use it..."

"No, no, don't worry, nothing that dramatic," Melas chuckled, not a hint of discomfort in his voice at the pending confession. "This one is mine."

"Yours? But...but...you're already a Druid!"

"Self taught, self practiced and unrefined. I never undertook my basic training and once worked as a barrow den guard like yourself. I was destined to train as a guardian Druid and even honed latent abilities at the restorative and horticultural arts, but...after all these millennia, I've never successfully shifted into bear form."

"I don't believe it."

"It's true. Because I was too proud, because I felt too embarrassed, because I always had tomorrow. But as you know, our people's immortality is over; from what I hear, the Archdruid has wisely advised that it not be brought back. And so I find myself in a situation where I wonder where all the time went and what the fel I spent all my time doing. There's a sense of urgency that wasn't there before."

"Oh, for sure, you really need to get to Moonglade as soon as you can - don't let your talent go to waste!" Though Melas could easily keep his cool, Triton stuttered nervously as he seemed to realize what he'd just said. "I mean...you ought to share your talent with the world...no, wait-"

"Don't worry, I understand what you mean. At some point in the near future, I'll need to get serious and take care of that. And I do hope that, once you're on your way, you give that quest of yours another try. What exactly is it that you need to gather?"

"Well...it's so mundane, really," Triton mumbled bashfully.

"Tha food be ready," Anjula announced while finally exiting the hut. She could have waited just a little bit longer, but listening to their guest squirm was almost painful. In addition to being annoying.

Triton gladly accepted the bowl from her using both hands, looking only moderately perturbed that he was to eat without utensils. "Oh, this is a professional grade salad!" he beamed, almost causing her to laugh again at his exaggeration.

Sitting slightly behind Melas, she dug in to her own salad and the three of them ate mostly in silence. Mostly because Triton spoke with his mouth full every few minutes about how similar the greens and apple were to other salads he'd eaten at restaurants in strange places.

By the time they'd nearly finished the meal, Triton had begun yawning and he began to talk less. Not only was he full, but he also looked a little worse for wear after having been lost in the woods. After watching him, almost fall asleep in a sitting position a few times, Anjula moved to poke Melas only to find him already on the same pattern of thought.

"Triton, it can't be later than midnight, but you might not be able to find your way back to the highway in this state. Anjula and I have work to do around the campsite; it would be better if you slept for a few hours before you take your leave."

Forcing himself awake, their guest appeared a bit humbled but more relieved than anything. "I wasn't going to ask or anything...but if you're willing to offer, it would be rude of me to refuse." His tone of voice was completely unconvincing, and once again without even being told he took the initiative to rise and find a part of the earthen hill covering the hut that had an indentation in the soil and a cover of ferns that looked especially welcoming toward wandering guests. "Would it be alright if I sleep right here?" he asked as he already stood before the spot, having forgotten his travel bag back at the tree chair entirely.

"By all means; it's an ideal spot-"

Before Melas could finish his sentence, Triton more or less fainted into the spot and barely moved an inch on the soft grass before his eyes shut lazily, and his consciousness appeared to leave him rather quickly. A few minutes passed and Anjula continued to watch, just to be sure he was actually asleep.

Once again, Melas knew her better than she knew herself in some ways. "He doesn't seem dangerous," her mate whispered in Zandali despite the fact that Triton was sleeping, and snoring lightly, and didn't understand Zandali. "The only reason to watch him is to make sure he isn't eaten by anything."

More serious and less giddy at having been read so easily, Anjula was slow to rise. "When you lead him toward the road, make sure to wind around the woods as much as possible," she whispered back."

"I don't think it's completely necessary, but it's a good suggestion. There's always the chance that he could find us again and ask for even more handouts."

"Yes, we need to conserve our food."

"Not just that," Melas sighed. "He's going to ask me to help him with his quest."

Having finally stood up, Anjula trotted around to stand in front of Melas, who was still sitting. "What? I didn't hear him mention that at all. That would be really presumptuous."

"Not necessarily; I'm the one who brought up the issue of crossing off items on one's list. And to be honest, I think it might be for the better."

"Melas..."

"If we extend as much help as is reasonable - as long as we don't burden ourselves - he's less likely to stupidly try to find us again. And him trying to find us again could lead more outsiders to find us."

At first Anjula wanted to shake her head, but she refrained; she didn't necessarily agree, but it was logical enough that it _might_ be accurate. And if her mate wanted to do it, she saw no reason to stop him considering he was the most cautious person she'd ever known. "I'm almost thinking that it isn't a gathering quest at all. Like it's some sort of kill quest where he bit off more than he can chew and is just hoping that you can do it for him."

"The moment I sense anything wrong, I'm leaving him, and I'll make that very clear to him when he wakes up. Until then, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he just tried to collect pine cones still on the branch or something inane like that."

Finding nothing else to say given the presence of a stranger, even a sleeping one, Anjula just shrugged, then nodded, then fidgeted until she found something to do. "I'm going to clear out the patch for more food to grow," she told him while walking toward the edge of the clearing.

For his part, Melas began collecting the bowls and waterskin to clean them all out after using his health magic to be sure that Triton was really asleep. Out like a rock, the smaller man slumbered for hours as the couple worked; he'd obviously been exhausted by his failure in the woods and would likely need quite a bit of help to get back on his feet. As always, duty called for two people living without the trappings of sedentary society and Anjula and Melas both had plenty of work around the campsite to occupy themselves for a few hours.


	3. Trickery

"How can we wake him up without it seeming intentional?"

"It shouldn't be difficult. He's been snoring like that the whole time; I don't think he's even really coherent or remotely alert right now."

"I don't want to risk him figuring out that we disrupted his sleep on purpose and then think us poor hosts."

"We helped him out of the bushes and gave him food, water and a place to sleep. He has no room to complain."

"Anjula..."

"No, really, I thought we weren't going to burden ourselves. There has to be a way to wake him up politely."

The couple glanced over at Triton again from their vantage point near the far edge of the clearing. At Anjula's urging, Melas had cast his spell for edible tubers to grow from the ground behind a few trees so Triton wouldn't see the extra food sprouting up. She felt no remorse; the man was obviously well off among other townies, and there was no reason for them to deplete their stocks of food for his sake. He'd be fine and they needed to eat once he was gone, as she explained it.

After only a few seconds of hesitation Melas agreed and concealed the spot where their food would grow, knowing that they couldn't spare much and Triton was rather bold in his requests despite his obviously thinking himself rather humble. It didn't take them long to finish all their chores around the campsite - all the tasks had become easy and ritualized - and the two found themselves with little to do when there was an outsider right on top of their earthen hut.

Tired of the monotony, Anjula loosened up one of the leather strings holding together a beaded tribal charm decorated in bird skulls that hung from her chest piece on occasion. From around the corner of the hut, she could stand and shake it without being seen as well as pretend she was simply tending to some work inside. After a good few rattles, their guest began to stir and she disappeared into the hut while Melas began bundling up sticks he found in the clearing in order to look busy. The couple hadn't eaten any meat in a few days anyway, so kindling a fire once they were alone together might not be a bad idea anyway. It would. A fitting meal at the end of a night they'd largely lost while watching their bumbling charge sleep.

Under the last bit of starlight, Triton opened his eyes and rolled around a bit. "Hmm...oh...hello? Melas?" He turned just as his host came from around the corner and wiped the dirt from his hands. "The stars look dim, for how long was I out?"

"Maybe five hours or so, a decent amount of sleep. Not bad just before a journey," Melas replied, subtly hinting at the guest's impending exit from the camp. "Do you feel better than when we found you?"

"Most definitely. And with a nice new pair of shorts, I should be presentable now." Triton stretched his back lazily and motioned toward his hemmed shorts that only looked slightly odd against his long jacket and high boots, none of which were suited to hiking in the woods. "It's almost daybreak...I won't be able to see well once the sun rises..."

"My mate packed three shares of rations inside the leaves of an elephant ear plant; they're all yours. Onions, nuts and a lot of berries - they'll last even beyond when you reach the next town."

When Triton forced a smile and nodded, a bit of guilt nipped at Melas. Not for Triton specifically; he really would be fine on his own from the look of him. However, it was still considered poor form to try and ditch a guest, even a somewhat needy and presumptuous one. His face didn't change from its blank expression though, and Triton quickly understood that he wouldn't be sleeping at the campsite during the day as well, and would need to find his way to the nearest highway.

"Do you know where I left my bag? I wasn't paying attention, I was so exhausted."

"Just around the side, near the chairs. Don't worry, we wouldn't let it out of our sight," Melas replied while handing over the bag. Anjula was still busy inside the hut - or pretending to be, at least - so Melas decided to extend his offer of further help just to get it over with. "You know, Triton, since I'll already walk with you to find the highway, I can also help you finish this gathering quest of yours. Your appearance has helped reminded me that I have certain tasks to take care of...the least I could do in return is to help you take care of your own task."

As it had many times before, a combination of relief and embarrassment made its way onto Triton's face. He didn't seem able to looks Melas in the eye, and his voice almost sounded like he was acting. "Yes, well, no, yes, it's very polite of you to offer. I'd hate to be a burden though, and you know, it's just a simple gathering quest. So, I mean, it's your call." Triton accepted his travel bag but didn't make a move to start walking away just yet. In his eyes shone a faint hope that made him look both like a humble traveler and a mooch.

"If it's simple, then it won't be a burden for me to help. What is it that you need to gather?"

"That does make sense then, doesn't it!" Triton answered a little too quickly. "It's an herb quest, but the person didn't quite explain what they need; they just showed me a picture. It's a...fungal...sort of thing. It glows light blue at night but looks normal in the day; apparently it's so new that it hasn't been named quite yet."

"I don't recall seeing such things before...but I'll help you check the area before we reach the highway. Perhaps it will be the motivation I need to start crossing off items on my own to do list." When Triton shouldered his bag, Melas noticed that there was an empty looking waterskin strapped on to it. "We have some water we can spare inside. Would you like me to fill that for you while I go get the rations?"

Not missing a bit, Triton had already removed the waterskin and extended it before the question had even been finished. "I wouldn't want to impose, but if you're offering!" he beamed.

"Alright, just a minute and we can go."

Looping around the side of the mound, Melas found Anjula already frowning and holding up the rations inside of the hut. "Our water, too?" she asked in Zandali. A rhetorical question, but her point was clear.

"Water is easier for us than food; the wisps will help with that. Look, it's just a precaution; the more we help him now, the less room he has to request anything else."

Unsatisfied but silenced, Anjula handed over the rations and a Melas filled the waterskin before turning to join their guest outside. "When you're a good distance away I'll try to catch something we can cook," she whispered after him.

Triton looked rather happy to have a bag full of food and a full container of water. Even if he was sated, however, Melas didn't want to give him a chance to ask for anything more before they left and already began walking out of the clearing. "You came from this direction, correct?" he asked while pointing northwest toward the nearest highway.

"What? Oh, correct, but the fungus I was looking for is said to be straight north - close to where you saved me. Maybe we should walk in that direction first."

Ever audacious, Triton began to change course northbound without even waiting for a response from his host, simply assuming that he knew better where to go despite the fact that he'd previously gotten himself lost and entangled in a bush. Not finding any reason to delay, Melas changed course along with him but still found himself largely leading the way as the two men wound in and out of the densely packed trees and left the clearing behind them.

* * *

"What sort of information do you have about these fungi you're supposed to collect for...an alchemist, I assume?"

Stumbling over roots and rocks in the underbrush, Triton struggled to keep up and speak at the same time. "Another merchant, actually. I didn't ask for details; he wants those fungi, and he isn't from here; I assume he intends to sell them elsewhere but I didn't feel it my place to ask."

 _Ironic_ , Melas thought to himself. "Right. So how much did he tell you? Do you know what type of terrain they grow in?"

For a moment, Triton continued keeping an almost moderate pace as the two of them hiked, perhaps deep in thought. Or simply struggling to answer as he finally seemed to gain a bit of coordination in his legs. "From the soil is what he told me. Some human fellow from Duskwood, by the way, and a real class act. He told me that the fungi appear to grow from the soil, usually beneath wet leaves and pine needles, and they tend to grow in trenches; bears would eat any laying about in the open." The two of them hiked for a few more minutes before Triton seemed to remember another detail. "They only glow at night, apparently; dawn is approaching and it will be a little tougher to locate any without the glow," he added.

"I think we may already have reached that point. It's been a few thousand years since I've set up camp in these parts, but I vaguely remember having seen a small ditch growing due to water erosion from the rain that pools there. We couldn't be more than half an hour away if we slightly alter our course west and northwest."

Triton's silver eyes lit up even more. "That would also take me - us, within less than that amount of time to the highway. In fact...I think this fellow may have mentioned such a location; I wish I had a better sense of direction." For a second Triton tried to hurry, but his boots were made of velvet and felt and he simply tripped himself up even more before slowing down.

"Don't worry, I'm already out," Melas reassured him as the two men adjusted their course. "Even if it takes a bit of time, I'll remain out there until we can find these things before sending you on your way."

"I...really appreciate what you're doing for me," Triton huffed and puffed. "I'm just glad that the opportunity won't go to waste."

Melas didn't quite understand what his guest meant by that, but Triton obviously wasn't as eloquent a speaker as he thought himself to be. Instead of asking for clarification, the semi-nomad just nodded and continued leading the way toward the ditch he remembered from a long time ago.

Due to Triton's need to stop once to rest and another time to relieve himself, it took them a bit longer to reach the spot Melas remembered the beginning of water eating a crease into the soil previously. Just as he'd expected, the erosion had continued every time it rained for the few thousand years since he'd last been there. The north end of the former ditch had gradually been filled by leaves, pine cones and shifting soil such that the ground had become level again; the south end had deepened and expanded to the point where it looked more like a trench than a ditch.

At least twenty feet deep and steeply inclining in both sides, the trench was full of moldy logs, mud, rocks and copious amounts of wet leaves at the bottom. The sides had a few tree roots jutting out but other than that, it would be a sheet climb on loose dirt both in and out, or a difficult trudge through thick mud from the south end. Such a dank place was bound to be filled with fungus and it certainly wasn't dangerous, but entering and exiting would be time consuming and frustrating for sure.

The two of them both looked the trench over from the edge, sizing it up. Leather creaked as Triton involuntarily gripped the strap of his travel bag a little more tightly, his anxiety clear. From the corner of his eye, Melas took another look at his guest. Triton's clothes were expensive and would be ruined even further if he marched through the mud; were he to climb down, the outfit would become dirty and torn. An internal sigh played out inside Melas' head as he realized that, having offered to help, he couldn't reasonably expect Triton to get in there and do the dirty work himself.

His own clothing consisted of his two claw gauntlets and two boots and a kilt made from thick, protective fur and hide from a stag he'd hunted a decade before, during the waiting period between his mate's current incarnation and her last. Were he to march through the mud, it might be nearly ruined as well, though it could possibly be washed at a river. Dirt and sharp rocks and roots, however, wouldn't hurt them one bit.

When Triton remained silent for once, Melas knew the man was probably thinking the same thing and relented. "Alright, I have a plan. It might be best if I descend into the trench."

"I...regretfully concur," Triton replied.

"I can climb down the side of the trench. I'll need somebody to look out while I'm down there, and to provide an aerial view in case I miss anything."

"I'm an excellent spotter! You know, I worked at the horse races in the Wetlands for a period. My keen eyesight settled many disputed races, it did."

This time, Melas had already begun to move before Triton even finished his sentence. Rather than damp, the soil on the sides of the trenches was rather dry, which was worse in some ways. Had it been damp soil, it would have held together better; dry as it was, large amounts of dirt and dust flew as Melas dug his fingers into the soil to lower himself. Footholds were difficult to find, but the distance was short and he dropped onto a log once he was halfway down. The wood creaked beneath his weight, but his balance was perfect after having lived in the wilderness for so long. A few clumps of dirt hit the bottom around him as he held still just to scan the area. He hadn't seen any hiding places for snakes or spiders, but checking again was always the first order of business.

Once he felt comfortable, he called up to his guest while continuing to look around in vain. "Do you see anything?" he asked.

The sound of a bag zipping open echoed from atop the ledge overlooking the trench. "Let me get out my periscope. Did I mention that I was once hired to negotiate a treaty between the Bloodsail Buccaneers and the Explorer's League? True story." He continued fiddling around inside his travel bag as Melas began to lose hope that they'd find anything. "Found it!"

Looking up, the light of daybreak trickled in through the canopy and illuminated Triton's figure in an odd way. The sun was no ally to the night elves and from his vantage point below, it interfered with his vision somewhat. Vaguely, he could see the outline of Triton's upper body, his travel bag and what appeared to be a ball.

"Triton, how is that going to help - HEY!"

Melas leaped as Triton hurled the orb next to him, intentionally missing and causing it to shatter against the log. Before Melas could react, an absolutely inordinate amount of gas escaped from the shattered shards of the glass orb. The sheer volume of the stuff inside of it seemed impossible, as if it was reacting to the oxygen around it. The gas billowed and rose while rapidly filling the trench, and Melas instinctively leapt onto the side of the trench, digging his fingers into the soil. It was solid but not enough to support his massive body, and he felt himself slide down toward the mud.

Triton shrieked in fear as Melas actually made it up one step. "Lying knave!" Melas growled as he thought of which part of the smaller man's body he'd break first, all the goodwill earned over the previous night draining out of his mind in a matter of seconds.

Dirt spilled onto Melas' head, forcing him to look down as he climbed. There was no way to look up lest it fall into his eyes but he could hear Triton scraping a stick against the ledge and knew his supposed guest was trying to bury him. Just as Melas was about to leap and tear the man's throat out, the first billows of the gas reached his nostrils and caused him to gag. Like clockwork, a sizeable chunk of dirt fell in his head; it didn't hurt and there was no way the trench could be filled that quickly, but Triton was apparently trying. Panic replaced rage in Melas' heart as he felt his pulse accelerate without any sort of escalation, alongside the searing pain in his nose and wind pipe. He gagged again, and this time his foot slipped against the loose dirt due to the lack of foothold. Melas fell part of the way down even further, and Triton continued dumping more dirt in him.

"Sulfur dichloride and ethylene. Both the gas and container are goblin made - they refer to it as mustard gas," Triton explained clinically as he seemed to calm down from the initial shock of thinking Melas would leap out. "I'm sure the pain is tolerable for someone of your talents, but eventually, you will fall."

Frustrated, furious and frantic, Melas gave up on trying to climb straight out and tried to balance on the logs hanging over the mud below. The south end of the trench had the stuff piled knee high but it still formed an incline leading out and he was getting nowhere trying to climb straight up the trench's sides. Cupping his hand over his mouth, he fought the dizziness and pressure in his head as he waded through the gas cloud that was now almost as long as the trench itself and nearly as high as his head. Once out, he could easily dispatch his guest turned adversary, but first he needed to get out.

"It was rather convenient that you led me to such a prime location. It was difficult for me to scout the area, what with having to flee the authorities and all," the voice of his new adversary echoed, though it sounded increasingly far away. "I only had one of these and I had to make it count. It also helps that I'm not too far away from your campsite."

Anger mixed with dismay as Melas felt his body grow heavy, and he clawed at the sides of the trench to at least pull himself above the gas cloud. His lungs felt like they were about to burst and his skin crawled as it rebelled against the fumes trying to enter his pores. Instinct took over and rather than worry about whatever the other man was saying, he only tried to drag himself toward the south end of the trench against his body's rapidly failing system.

"It's not right that I spend so many millennia disrespected in the menial job of a barrow den guard. Eventually I drifted away and actually enjoyed my time during the Long Vigil, but with the world so open now, those of my profession fear the sentinels even less; this planet is ripe for the plunder."

Melas opened his mouth without thinking to voice his rage. "Curse-" was all that came out, and he regretted it right away as he doubled over due to the gas that had entered his throat. His eyes watered until he couldn't see and the gas cloud raised above his head. Even as it began to dissipate, he could feel the effect as his muscles stopped responding to his brain's motor strip.

"Finally, a right will be wronged. That medallion you left back at camp won't go to waste; it deserves to be used, and I deserve to use it. I'm going to go to Moonglade, and finally our people will understand that Heralath the Liar is not a failure!"

Whatever the man's name truly was, his footsteps walking away were the last thing his former host heard. Despite the fact that dawn's light had broken, the world began to darken as Melas' pain drifted away. The anger never decreased as defiance served as fuel to the bitter end.

The last image in his mind was the natural charcoal grey color of Anjula's dreadlocks as the latest incarnation of the timeless woman faded in and out of his memory. In that trench, on that morning, Melas Bowleaf died.


	4. Renewal

The smell of ozone was the first sensation that returned to him. So many memories came to Melas from that smell. The air after a bolt of lightning, the grassy soil in between spouts of rain, the braided mane of most incarnations of his timeless mate.

Anjula. Her name is Anjula this time.

The heat of her skin was much more than his; her people in general were like living furnaces. Rather than pleasant reassurance, that image in his head filled him with rage as he remembered what had happened. His guest - Triton, Heralath, whatever he called himself - had doused him with mustard gas and ran off. Truly, he didn't know whether he needed to fear for Anjula or not; she was raised in a savage tribe and their guest turned adversary supposedly only had one of those orbs. Still, there was no telling what else he might have in that bag of his, or what other lies the man had in store.

Melas' heart sank as he realized that whatever happened, it was his fault. He'd chosen to help the man in the first place; he'd showed a stranger a rather valuable medallion and given the benefit of the doubt; he'd insisted on going along, helping the man and even jumping down into a narrow, cramped trench. He bore the responsibility.

But wait...how was he realizing this?

He died; he felt himself die. It wasn't even that painful. The beliefs of the Kaldorei regarding the afterlife weren't as well defined as those of the humans, dwarves and draenei despite being so ancient; most night elves were believed to turn into wisps when they died, serving their survivors by constructing natural buildings, gathering resources or perhaps even growing into an ancient. But wisps didn't have limbs, and Melas could feel the sense of touch returning to his numb arms and legs as he struggled to...to get up. He was lying on solid ground.

Druids were believed to continue living in the Emerald Dream, where they continued their work preserving the balance for those on Azeroth as they lived on in another dimension. But Melas was no true Druid; he'd never completed formal training. He was a guardian Druid who couldn't even shapeshift into a bear. He'd never been to the Dream before, and even if he were to go, it was partially corrupted. How would he-

"What are you doing here in the Emerald Dream, cousin?"

Melas froze. The confused voice was so familiar, yet it seemed impossible. After eight thousand years of separation, could it be?

Rising to his hands and knees, Melas found the world around him dark. His eyes struggled to focus on the excessive amount of leaves, vines and green all around him; it was impossible to even see a good meter away from the beaten path due to the density of the trees. It was so beautiful, so natural that it couldn't be from the world he lived on.

And standing before him was the outline of another Bowleaf he had never expected to see again.

"Sodor?" Melas asked, blinking as the familiar shape of his maternal cousin came into view.

A feral Druid, Sodor was the same height as Melas but leaner, built for dishing it out rather than taking it in combat. Kneeling down to help him up, Sodor still looked the same despite their immortality having ended; that same violet skin that ran in the family, that same blue-black hair color with post-immortality flecks of grey that they both shared.

On his feet, Melas realized that his lungs didn't hurt anymore. His body felt a bit wobbly, but only because he'd just woken up. For all intents and purposes, he was just fine, and very clearly in a dimension he'd never expected to see.

Centuries of arguments and disputes bubbled between them but fizzled out. Sodor wore a look of worry on his face, and obviously knew something was wrong.

"What happened that led to you appearing here?" the leaner cousin asked.

"What happened to your antlers?" the broader cousin asked.

Sodor frowned and briefly felt the once long, proud antlers sprouting from his head. Halfway up they looked fine; the rest of the way, they were thin, soft and of unusually light color. It looked as if they'd been sawed clean off halfway and then regrown.

"Long story, and one I have a feeling there is no time for now," Sodor sighed, brushing the topic aside. "How did you end up here? I would have been informed had you entered any of the barrow dens. Very few of us are entering at this time."

Dread filled Melas' chest as he began to worry about his mate. Time slowed down inside the Emerald Dream; what felt like a moment here could translate into a year outside. Or possibly not. Time was a tricky thing to understand, and it did not always flow in the same direction. Shaking the thoughts and fears from his mind, Melas tried to focus on finding a solution. "I think I died. I tried to help a lost traveler...one of our own people...but he threw some goblin device at me. An orb filled with gas that caused my eyes to water, my skin to sting and my lungs to feel very full. Now I fear he is going to assault...people I care for."

In the past, Sodor had always seemed emotional for an elf and almost petulant. Years spent tending to nature must have wisened him, as he didn't waste time squabbling a out past disputes and got to the point. "I felt your presence literally a minute ago. I found you here when you weren't here a few seconds before. You started to wake up immediately. From the time you appeared to this sentence I'm speaking now, it couldn't be more than a minute and some seconds." Sodor straightened up and flexed his fingers. "We'll have to reminisce another time; if you're here, and you felt yourself fall...then I fear the worst has happened to you. Resurrection spells can't save the body from ruin - not from spinal damage, brain damage, and not from serious tissue damage if the corpse isn't tended to by a healer first. There also can't be a large amount of time passed between death and the spell itself - the best priestesses can't revive someone beyond an hour or so. And I'm no healer to begin with, so my resurrection spell isn't even that-"

"Will it work?" Melas asked pointedly.

Millennia ago, Sodor might have derailed the entire conversation over that; pride and a bit of arrogance caused him to react poorly when interrupted. This time, however, he controlled his ego rather easily, seeming to be a changed man. "If it's just gas, and the gas has dissipated, you can still be resurrected without fear of dying all over again. But I've never known of somebody who died, had their spirit pass on to the Dream, and then were resurrected on Azeroth by someone here _inside the Dream_. And if you appeared here without formally being inducted at a den, you're most definitely dead - a large number of our colleagues here are Druids who passed on. It's our way of staying in touch-" Sodor stopped when he saw the increasing anxiety in his cousin's features. "Come back to Moonglade some time. We'll catch up...and you have a lot of training to catch up on."

"Get me through this, and one way or another I'll be there."

Green swirls already began to surround Sodor's body as the feral Druid charged up a restoration spell. "Hold still, and focus whatever healing magic the best you can...I need help on this." A low chant rang out from Sodor's vocal chords as he tried to work the spell the best he could. Despite his pessimism, Melas already began to feel dizzy again. He'd never been resurrected before - of course, he'd never actually _died_ before - but somehow, he knew this is what the reverse of dying felt like.

Slowly, the image of his cousin and the greenery around him faded from view, and Melas felt himself slip into the darkness again.

Waves washed over his body and he experienced difficulty when he tried to discern whether it was liquid or gas. Eventually he felt the flex of his muscles on their own accord, and for a moment he panicked. It didn't feel wrong but it didn't feel right. His limbs were moving, and they wanted to move, but he didn't feel in control. They were very warm; his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears felt cold. He was covered. But that didn't make sense; he wasn't covered when he died.

Next to him, a woman spoke; the voice was familiar, but from a very long time ago. His head turned without him willing it to do so and he saw her; the light grey-black of her brows stood out from the thick fur wrappings that she also wore. Snow all around them told him that they were in Winterspring...he'd seen this before.

It was an image of the past, like what his mate experienced. But his mate reincarnated, and those images reminded her of lives past. Melas had been immortal for so long; he never saw those images because he remembered their experiences directly. And yet there he was, reliving a past memory of him and his mate in Winterspring, hiking toward a cave bearing a hot spring. He remembered exactly. This wasn't Anjula; this one was...Zeina. Zeina. It was his mate, the love of his life, his reason for living, but in a different incarnation.

Anjula. He told Anjula about Zeina, one of her former names. Recently. He was remembering something he told her recently.

Her incarnations often complained of the intensity of the images in the beginning after each reincarnation episode; he'd never realized how true that was. Images of him chasing her as she laughed and ran in the shallows of a lake mixed with the images he hated the most, of one of the many times he buried her as one of her incarnations passed away due to her race's short lifespan, leaving him alone to wait for two decades or maybe more until the images led her to him again. Sorrow, loneliness and a sense of urgency fueled him, and he felt his veins pulse in every inch of his body. Pain ripped through his lungs as he breathed, but he didn't know where he was. He wasn't in Winterspring; he wasn't in the shallows of a lake; he wasn't weeping over an elderly body containing and ancient soul. Where was he?

The pain spurred him, and he tried to rise from wherever he found himself. His forearms felt slimy as mud dropped down, but his mind wouldn't quite let him escape the darkness. An image of an earthen hut floated before his mind, and a dark woman milled about in a clearing surrounding it. Five squirrels roasted on a spit over a fire she'd whittled, and she patiently cleaned the skins while occasionally rotating the meat.

Peripheral vision filled until he could see the woods around the clearing. Faintly, he could hear humming as she worked. It was some sort of a chant, and he strained to recognize it, if only to hear the sound of her voice.

Her movement was so measured, so different from how she'd been just a few months before. Everything was careful and exact, and she didn't seem to mind taking her time. The only aspect that was awry was her tapping foot. Nervously, her left foot tapped whenever she held still, as if she were worried about waiting for something. The sun was up, and for sure she'd be worried.

Leaves rustled and her ears pricked up. A good distance away, a figure stood in the woods, though just out of her clear view. It bobbed up and down in place for a few moments and then shook violently before it moved again. Colors flashed as the expensive clothes of a town dweller moved between the densely packed tree trunks, and the man who had called himself Heralath stumbled toward the clearing. Panting, sweating, and limping, he put in a professional grade performance; Anjula was so on edge by the man's distraught appearance that she didn't even move forward to intercept him at first, standing mystified instead.

"Anjula! Oh Anjula, I'm so glad I found you, I'm so sorry!" the liar stuttered quickly as he almost hyperventilated.

Keeping her distance and suspicious as always, she tried to wave at him to get his attention. "Calm down, sir; where Melas be? What happened?" she asked in her still developing Darnassian.

"I tried to stop it but I couldn't!" Heralath gasped while bracing his hands on his knees. "Anjula I'm so sorry, I hope you don't hate me!"

"Where Melas be?"

"I was trying to find the target for my gathering quest but he slipped and fell into a trench! There was nothing I could do...he's gone!" Right away, he began to sob into his open palms, standing in the middle of the clearing and creating far more noise than was safe so far away from settled areas.

Doubting the man's story and his ability to assess whether someone had just slipped and hit their head or actually died, Anjula steeled her nerve, told herself it was impossible and just tied to calm the man down to make sense of the situation. "Calm down, ya gotta be quiet!" She patted Heralath on the shoulder in an attempt to help him control himself, and he did slightly while leaning in to her pat like an upset child seeking comfort. "I be sure it ain't washyu think. Come on, we gotta go-"

"Melas is dead! Dead! Deeaad!" Heralath wailed, nearly breaking down in a way that was completely illogical for a grown man. He threw his arms around her shoulders for a hug, violating her personal space and causing the follicles of her mane to bristle on the back of her neck. "It wasn't my fault, I swear."

"Damn it, Triton...just get me ta wherever he be and we can figure dis out," she grumbled while giving him a single awkward pat and then trying to step away from him. When he leaned his head against hers, his instability became so obvious that she not only disbelieved his story totally, but thought he must be insane. "Just tell me where he be and back off, I gonna be handlin dis!"

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what you'll do!"

"Triton, let go."

He hugged her tighter despite being noticeably shorter, clinging like a crazy person. "Anjula, you don't have anything to worry about...I can help you, if you show me that medallion we - ack!" he gagged as she caught him by the throat and unsuccessfully tried to shove him away from her. "Anjula, I can help you!" In reaction, Heralath grabbed a handful of her braids to hang on to as he tried to press up against her in a way she wouldn't even allow a friend to do.

"Get OFF!"

On savage instinct, Anjula leaned forward, hooked one of her tusks beneath Heralath's upper lip and yanked her neck and head backward as hard as she could, tearing the skin of his face in a disgusting display.

Heralath howled as he stumbled backward, falling to the ground and pulling Anjula's mane one last time to send her stumbling into one of the tree stump chairs. As her guest turned adversary writhed around on the ground and sobbed into his hands for real behind her, she stumbled up to her feet, completely convinced that the story had been a lie and Melas was out there somewhere. To her dismay, her wooden spear that she'd left at the edge of the clearing had been moved; Heralath had come from that direction, and she quickly realized that he must have taken it in anticipation of how she'd react.

The whizzing sound reached her long, sensitive ears only a split second before the first throwing knife passed her, nearly shortening one of those ears and causing her to yelp and jump up in the air. Unarmed, she spun around to meet her attacker, shocked by his appearance.

No longer the bumbling townie she'd taken him for in the beginning, Heralath had stood up and now held an entire leather roll of the sharp blades that he'd pulled from his bag; the first knife had embedded itself in a tree and he had over a dozen more at the ready. His upper lip, the inside of his right nostril and the right side of his nose had been split open by her tusk when he'd tried to assault her, leaving much of his gums and other red parts of the meat of his face exposed by the tear in his face, which hung unevenly on his head. Tears streamed down Heralath's cheeks for real, and his lower lip quivered as he cried in anger and pain - but not insanity.

"I tried to extend a helping hand, Anjula! I would have been good to you, but now look at me!" Blood splattered from Heralath's sliced lip as he spoke, and the entire right side of his face, neck and coat collar were soaked a deep red color. The pain should have been unbearable, yet it seemed to fuel the man's insistent shouting as he wielded another throwing knife. "I would have-"

"Ya don't even know meh ya psycho!"

"Just tell me where the medallion is!"

There was no way a knave like that would have been able to take on her mate in a fight; something was wrong. More so than fear, her inner self was ablaze with anger and defiance as she measured the sudden steadiness of Heralath's throwing arm and the desperate determination in his left eye. She was unarmed and he was still dangerous despite his injury, but his determination didn't match her stubbornness.

"It be here in ma purse!" she snarled back while patting the pouch on her belt. In a flash, she'd turned tail, dashed away, dodged a second knife and bolted out of the clearing.

Any sort of fatigue Heralath had feigned before was gone as he kept up a remarkable pace. She was a tribeswoman who grew up running around in the woods and he was an injured townie, but he was still an elf and she still a troll; his people were built for speed and no matter how many trees she dodged around, she couldn't quite lose him in the forest. Narrower feet pattered against the ground behind her, jumping every hurtle she tossed in his way. Returning to how her people were raised, she didn't bother looking back and focused only on navigating her way through the dense underbrush in front of her, zigzagging the entire way.

"Melas!" Anjula cried out to the forest, no longer worrying about what else might hear her as she tried to find where she assumed he last would have been.

More knives whizzed by, and it may only have been the daylight breaking through the canopy and interfering with his ultravision that prevented him from scoring a hit. Air cut as blades flew by her neck and shoulders, and it was clear that he was aiming to kill. After wasting what must have been half his blades, he stopped throwing and the pattering of his feet grew closer.

In the back of her mind, she doubted she'd be able to overpower him in a fight; by the standards of dark trolls, she was very short - a runt, even. The fact that he also had knives ensured that she wouldn't try, though she doubted she'd be able to outrun him, either. What spurred her on, however, was not those fears but her anger at having been told her mate was dead. It was possible even during the Long Vigil - even immortals could be killed by violence or accidents - but it felt so much more real now that Melas was mortal again. Mild panic mixed with her defiance, and she just tried to run in the direction she'd seen the two of them walk before dawn.

It didn't continue long before pain struck the inside of her lower right calf.

"Ack!" Anjula gasped as she felt one of the knives scrape the sensitive inside of her leg, just above the ankle.

It didn't hit a vein but it stung her leg more than had she been struck higher up, and she twisted to the side as he leg buckled to avoid a sprain. Without needing to look behind her, she twisted around all the way and let her fist fly, connecting with the top of Heralath's shoulder just as he leapt and tried to stab her in the back.

"Argh!"

The blow wasn't significant, but it certainly knocked him off balance. The sound of the bottom of her fist hitting him in the shoulder joint like a hammer sounded like a hollow log being struck, and he missed with his stabbing motion, dropped the knife somewhere to the side and hit a rock jutting out of the ground when he failed to stop running after she did. At the last moment he caught himself on a tree, and she scrambled to stand up on her uninjured leg and look for the knife he'd dropped.

Everything happened in slow motion, and she had time to notice that Heralath had stopped pursuing her and was staring at something. She could see his uninjured left side, and there was a look of fear on his face that brought joy to her heart.

Silently, another figure noticeably bulkier than Heralath and nearly as tall as Anjula broke out from the tall bushes and ferns that populated that part of northern Kalimdor. Violet skin had broken out into a few blisters, but many of them were rapidly disappearing as the green energy of a rejuvenation spell swirled around him. There were unnatural bags under his eyes and his kilt and boots were soaked with mud, but he was very much alive. And very angry.

"Melas, you're alive! I can't, I can't, believe it!" Heralath stuttered as he tried to regain his balance, completely forgetting about Anjula. Not a word was said as Melas continued to march toward him, breathing uneasily but not missing a beat as he clenched his fists. "I'm so glad things turned out, and they turned out, of course! I don't know what you might about thinking right - "

A coward to the bitter end, Heralath threw another knife at Melas in mid sentence, trying to trick his opponent into paying attention to his words and not his hands. In a flash, Melas reached out and grabbed the throwing knife in midair. By the blade. With his bare hands. And didn't suffer a single cut to his fingertips while doing so. Anjula gasped before she realized what her mate had done, and when he dismissively tossed the knife to the side, Heralath held his hands up in surrender.

"Melas, you see, I didn't really mean to throw that! I was nervous, and the sabre got out of the cage - you know what I mean ACK!"

A loud thud echoed in the woods as Melas punched Heralath right beneath his floating rib. The liar gasped and choked on saliva as Melas appeared to hold his fist against the liar's body rather than letting it bounce off from the recoil. It was only when he pulled back his knuckles and the three sharp blades overtop them that Anjula figured out he'd extended the claws of his gauntlets at the end of the punch.

Coughing up even more blood, Heralath fell into a pathetic heap before them, the right side of his face only loosely hanging on to the meat over his skull. He didn't even have time to say anything more before the vines and roots crawling out of the soil wrapped around him like an octopus and began pulling him into the ground.

"You will not even have the dignity of saying any last words," Melas growled as not a spell of his but nature itself swallowed the liar into the planet's surface. Even the dirt shifted and the process was nearly complete surprisingly fast.

"Tha medallion was in our hut back at tha camp anyway, stupid!" Anjula shouted one last time before Heralath was engulfed completely. Only a few blood stains on the grass remained; there wasn't even a lump of soil where he'd previously been.

There was no hesitation as Melas took her into his arms and found her already clinging to him tightly. There were no tears or lamentations as the two of them held each other close for a while. She could feel that his breathing was still uneven, and up close she could see that his eyes were irritated, but there would be time for finding out about that later. At that moment, she just wanted to hold on to him until she was absolutely sure it had all been a lie and he was right there with her.

* * *

Very little had been said after they'd returned to their campsite. On the slow walk back Melas had detailed the gas attack by their former guest and his visitation from his cousin in the Emerald Dream; Anjula had detailed the guest's behavior and obsession with the Cenarion Circle initiate medallion. Everything had happened in such a short span of time that there wasn't much else to tell, and they slept in each other's arms quickly due to the late hour in the morning for them - both his "tribe" and hers were nocturnal. He'd grown the vines and roots extra thick over the opening of their hut, just as a precaution should any other travelers cross through.

At one point, Anjula finally stirred, rolling over in their bedcovers to find the spot next to her empty. It had to have been night by that time, but they were in no rush and had intended to sleep as much as possible. Yet Melas sat right next to her in the hut, on the other side of the bedroll as he sifted through one of their intricately woven spiderweb bags. He didn't look groggy and must have already been awake for a few minutes.

"We can sleep again soon...but I wanted to give you something," he whispered in the darkness of the hut.

They'd grown so used to each other across the lifetimes spent together that they often forewent using segues in conversation, and both had a tendency to jump right to the point. Others might not find it romantic, but to her it simply meant that they knew each other very well.

"Hmm...what?" Her voice was faint and she wavered between trying to wake herself up a little more to see clearly what he was doing and simply trying to fall asleep again as soon as possible. "What is it?"

Like most of his kind, Melas was not particularly sentimental, and preferred to demonstrate affection through actions rather than words, gestures or expressions. But when he turned to face her, his brows were knit in a sense of apprehension so strong that she fought the drowsiness enough to sit up next to him.

When she looked into his eyes, she saw a sense of haste that was the polar opposite of the man she'd spent so many lifetimes with. That plodding, comfortable sense of ease still rested in there somewhere, but it wasn't in control at that moment. It was the most emotional she'd ever seen him.

"I...have done a fair bit of thinking...and not quite enough sleeping," he began quietly, leaving her hanging on his every word as he worked his way to the point. "Anjula...our relationship has changed. Forever. And we, too, must change if we wish to survive."

Confusion swelled inside her as she tried to understand what he was talking about, but it was all in futility. He had always been her rock; there was no way for her to predict what he was thinking at all in such a state. "What's wrong, dear?" she asked.

There was something in his hand; a small object he kneaded in his palm as he rotated it rhythmically. His eyes were trained on the wall of their hut, though he wasn't in any sort of a trance as she sometimes fell into.

"I don't know how...we function. From the very first time you came back to me, I never understood how it worked. All I know is that every time, you come back, and it's always you; the name and face changes, but it's a single mind and soul. As long as I lived due to my people's eternity, you were always there. But that time is over now. My people have changed; I have changed.

"I don't know how much time the Goddess has granted me, but I know that I'm ageing. I feel it. Eventually, I will grow old, and I will die. And because we don't know how reincarnation works-"

"This is too much," she burst out in a low voice. "I never wanted to think about this."

"We have to, Anjula! We have to! Yesterday...I died. It wasn't incapacitation; I died. I was resurrected, but that won't work when it comes from old age or natural death. And so I've been given a reminder...not a vision, but a reminder. My time draws near; maybe I, too, might be born again; maybe not. And...maybe, after I pass on-"

"No..."

"-you might still come back. And I...I won't be here. I won't be waiting for you."

Tears already began to well at the corners of her eyes. "I don't want to think about this."

"We don't have a choice. Whether we like it or not, this has been thrust upon us. I've seen what it's like. I went into the Emerald Dream...my cousin told me how it's true, what they say. Those who practice the Druidic arts can live on in the dream."

Before she could even protest, he had slipped something into her hand. His hands were gentle despite their strength, and it felt so touching despite the fact that he wouldn't have allowed her to resist. First, she only looked at him, confused as to what could possibly matter when they were discussing something so dreadful. But he stared at her so intently, with such a raw power that wasn't like him at all, that she felt the need to trust him even if his behavior didn't make sense.

Inside of her hand, she found something gleaming in the light from his amber eyes, and an object of the same color shone back. When she moved her fingers, she could feel the links of a chain attached to the object, and hear them clinking against each other. The emblem of the Cenarion Circle was imprinted in the top, as she could feel it when she ran her thumb over it.

Her confused look earned her no answer, and didn't shed any light on what he was trying to imply. "Melas...I don't understand-"

"We have to go. And we have to go soon. We've worked hard to keep this lifestyle out here, and I hope that one day we can shake off the trappings of civilization and return here...but not now. I saw today what may happen to me one day...and I say a means by which we can still be together."

It should have clicked earlier, but she felt so anxious that her ancient mind had difficulty connecting the dots. "You...you think I can be...like you?"

"I don't know; I never successfully trained as a Druid. I can't tell you what makes a good one or what the signs of aptitude are. But we have to try; whoever holds this is guaranteed a spot among the initiates, even without a sponsor or recommendation from someone else; that's why they made so few of these."

He lifted her hand up between them, and she let it lie in his as it moves up. The medallion was ancient and a bit weathered by time, and the emblem had become a bit worn. To think that some people lost personal items all the time, and yet he had held on to this token for thousands of years seemed almost impossible; yet she could vaguely remember it from before, ever present even if buried at the bottom of whatever bag he had at the time.

Sniffing and gulping, she nodded, knowing that they might not have any options anymore. "I'll do my best...for us. I don't know what will happen...in training, or in life. But no matter what, I will make this my focus."

The two of them looked at the medallion a little longer, the previous day's events having left an imprint on them both. The future was no longer entirely clear to them, and they couldn't wait forever. At one time, they thought they could, but that time was over.

Sleep crept up again and pulled them both back into the bedroll. There would be scant little time to rest before they would be on the move yet again; this time, they wouldn't be roaming for another isolated spot in the woods.

* * *

 **A/N: thanks for reading! I know the way the third chapter ended may have been unexpected, but I had to go where inspiration took me. And yes, Melas did literally die; he also literally got resurrected. Obviously, that experience is significant to the development if their bond.**

 **Which means, of course, that this won't be the last we see of them. In addition to cameos in other stories, I'm planning at least one more full length tale for them set after the Cataclysm, shortly after their only child is born. I'm mentioning that here since Tan'jin will already be almost a year old by then, so it isn't really a spoiler since he's a part of the cast from the start of the story.**

 **For now, that's still in the planning phase. I post the occasional drabble abd development piece over on DeviantArt (same user name), where you can also find the pic that Mischiart drew of Anjula and, hopefully soon, one she'll do of Melas. Until their next story...I wish you all the best!**


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